


Beast Wars: Deep Impact

by Deepclaw



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Beast Machines - Freeform, Friendship, Gen, Maximals, Pack Dynamics, Predacons, Survivors, Takes Place After Beast Wars Ends, Teamwork, The Axalon, Transformers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepclaw/pseuds/Deepclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Depth Charge's past experience as Security Chief of Omicron comes back to haunt him when his motley team of allies look to him for leadership on an Ancient Earth devoid of Cybertronian presence besides their own. They are survivors of the Beast Wars, thought dead by Optimus Primal and his aggrieved crew, and they are left picking up the pieces the Maximals unwittingly left behind. </p>
<p>           Taxed with managing a bunch comprised mostly of highly dangerous Predacons, including his nemesis Protoform X, Depth Charge aims ultimately for one goal - to escape the planet by revitalizing what's left of the Axalon. It's an ambitious undertaking, and with the Vok becoming ever more involved with their mysterious experiment and taking on powerful frames of their own, both Maximal and Predacon lives are at stake. Luckily, when backed into a corner even Predacons make good teammates, and, with help from unexpected sources, they just might make it off this dustball alive.</p>
<p>~~A story focused on developing further some of our favorite Characters, comparing Predacon and Maximal cultures and behavior, and tackling the tricky subject of Redemption.~~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Beast Wars or its characters and stuff. That’s Hasbro. 
> 
> \- December 2012, Update -
> 
> This is a rewrite of a fic I stalled on well over a couple years ago. Unfortunately as much as I love to come up with story ideas, I suck at writing them down. I have imagined this fic to death, especially what I want to happen in its planned sequel, but haven’t written a word. But I do want to see this thing written, I really do, and seeing as the Beast Wars fandom is slowly petering out, I absolutely do not want my story to end now. 
> 
> The following is a rewrite of the original Beast Wars: Deep Impact. I have renamed that one to Deep Impact: The Archives. And following the long hiatus since I last updated this version, I have decided to reboot it once again. I haven’t changed much, but I am rewriting a couple scenes, rewording things, and doing grammar checks. This time around, I plan to only update if I have the next chapter already written, although I do not have a schedule for when new chapters are uploaded. I will also be uploading to Archive of Our Own, and updating the fic posted on FFN. I am Deepclaw on both sites.
> 
> Finally, for this Prologue, I begin my tale in the thick of Beast Machines, where I tie my first thread of webbing before diving into the weaving of the tapestry that will become Deep Impact. Regardless of your feelings towards Beast Machines, a terrible sequel but a good story in its own right, the following helps ground my story into canon and I hope to eventually come full circle. 
> 
> The prologue occurs some time in the middle of the second season; after Botanica’s arrival but before the Maximals are able to progress in their fight against Megatron’s totalitarian grip of their home planet. We start with a quiet atmosphere and a meditating gorilla…

* * *

* * *

**Beast Wars: Deep Impact**

**~Prologue~**

* * *

* * *

 

          “The seeds of the future…lie buried in the past…”

           Optimus Primal stared blankly into the void before him, almost expecting the Oracle to appear again. Maybe its wisdom would be a little bit more comprehensive than before.

           He waited in vain...

           It seemed like eons ago that he and his crew had landed on a desolate Cybertron with no idea what had happened to them or how they’d ended up as wanted refugees in their own home city. But even now, after fighting endless battles, securing heaps of scraps of data from an insane Megatron’s archives, and delving into the deepest parts of the planet chasing myths for a chance at freedom, he and his Maximals were reaching a stage in their guerilla war that didn’t seem to advance.

           Like Rattrap had once said, referring to his old video games, “Look, Boss Monkey. We’re on the hardest level yet and we ain’t even found the dungeon key.”

          Nightscream had heartily agreed.

          The somber gorilla lifted a hand, his beast mode a small dark blot on the wide  abandoned road that functioned as the catwalk over their current secret base. He hadn’t moved for megacycles, the small technorganic seed he’d collected for consideration looking a little bit more lifeless than when he’d first plucked it from their wilting crop. He shook his head, his eyes closing as a small inner voice reminded him that the only reason these plants were still alive was Botanica’s expertise. And despite even that, the seed was losing its vitality the longer he kept it away from the fertile soil down below.

          That was the thought that pushed him to his feet and he walked to the lift that would take him to the crops.

         “If we just had a larger sample of the organic core and more reliable circuitry - ”

         “But we don’t! Everything we have is salvaged from the best we can find and that’s either ancient technology from all the way down here, or the good stuff from the surface. And the only good stuff up there is, ironically enough, Megatron’s product. Foraging for his scraps isn’t only demeaning, it’s _dangerous_. And it’s only getting more so all the time.”

         Cheetor’s mature voice rang from behind a boulder, the Earth-like rock looking out of place in the hallowed halls of ancient Cybertronian construction. How long had the planet’s inhabitants claimed the entire planet was metallic only for his small band of Maximals to discover the blip of natural material at its core. It made one wonder who built these ruins, and why they’d been forgotten. Optimus considered himself a lifelong history student, and he’d never heard anything about the type of architecture he and his group encountered on a daily basis while exploring this far from Megatron’s territory. The ape continued forward, his ears and mind now tuning in to his comrades’ concerns.

         Botanica was quick to reply, not giving up on her campaign to make more frequent forays into the drone infested regions of the planet. “Then we can start with finding more goo. We know from controlled experiments that it surfaces more easily with the right electrical pulse to its matter. While we have plenty enough of a reserve here, it is not enough to expand the crops into new locations.”

         As Optimus reached the quarreling group, he found Cheetor shaking his head.

         “I still don’t think we should expand, at least no further from this tunnel. If we do, we’ll be too spread out. We could be detected easier, or the plants made more vulnerable without the right supplies to support them. There’d be too much to do down here and we’d spread ourselves thin trying to fight Megatron at the same time. Besides, Megatron’s security is getting better and his grip on the planet is getting stronger. What we have is enough for research purposes, but we need to advance militarily.”

         “I gotta agree with Cheetor, here, Sprouts,” Rattrap interjected, nodding his pointed snout. “We can’t get the circuitry we need for the crops or our other projects so easy anymore. Megatron’s livin’ it up in his Penthouse o’ Evil and we’re sittin’ down here cultivatin’ a farm! If we just head up there to collect drones and slag for parts, we’re askin’ for trouble. We should focus on weakening his defense and takin’ out his best Generals.”

         “But the crops are _dying_ ,” Botanica protested with a note of desperation, gesturing to the steel plated pool of green they had stored for the plants. The liquid was duller, the shine less noticeable, and the plants around it were healthy, but less lively. Their imminent demise wasn’t noticeable to anyone but the plantbot, but the Maximals had long since learned to trust her when it came to flora. “We can make no progress at _all_ if we don’t at least have _them_. We need to make them flourish, and we need to give them more space. Besides, our other projects will need new hardware as well.”

         “I think we can settle for a bit of a compromise…Sort of,” Blackarachnia stated, hanging lightly from a pipe. Nightscream was nearby, listening, and the other Maximals turned towards her. “We know Megatron’s tightening the noose on this sector. That means that nothing we do down here is safe. They’re drilling their way down, click by click, and eventually they’ll find us. The bigger our footprint on this soil, the easier it will be track us down. And yet,” she raised a leg like she would a finger. “Our research on the technorganic plants is just as important as surviving this apocalyptic mess, _and_ defeating Megatron. You won’t want to hear this, but I think we need to move base to a better location so we can all complete the tasks we’ve got on our plate with _less_ interference from upstairs.”

          Both Cheetor and Botanica looked ready to protest, but they were also considering the she-spider’s suggestion with morose acceptance. Optimus Primal got the impression that all of his Maximals had been leaning towards the same conclusion regarding their situation and only now that it was voiced were they regarding its potential reality. As the drone armies expanded, and Megatron grew wiser to Maximal tricks, their operations down here were in jeopardy. And it certainly didn’t help that while Megatron’s choice to thoroughly investigate various sectors of Cybertron’s inner structure at random, the search was hitting dangerously close to home.

         He stepped forward, his face sad. His presence drew his friends’ attention and they quieted to hear his words.

         “I don’t think any of us want to admit it,” he said, once again glancing at the technorganic seed in his hand. “But Blackarachnia may be right. We can’t hope to beat Megatron and his armies before they find us. We can’t afford such a risky race. Our only option is to move out now before it’s too late.”

         “Ugh. Isn’t there another _way_?” Nightscream asked, perturbed. “After Thrust found our last base, we had to move and start over. We only just _got_ here and it took forever to set it up! And now we have to go and start over again?”

         “Unfortunately, our only other option is to stay and risk another confrontation with the Generals or Megatron himself. I don’t think he knows where we are, but I do have a feeling he has a _hunch_ , and he will pursue us with everything he’s got,” Optimus explained, his voice taking on a slight edge. “If we weren’t in one of the sectors he’s searching, we’d be able to continue our operations with less desperation. In fact, I think we would have made progress. Here, he’ll crack down on us soon enough.”

         As the faces around him turned thoughtful, Optimus heard the tell tale chortling of a condor and his eyes met the form of Silverbolt as he alighted on the boulder with predatory grace, fresh from patrol. The solemn bird of prey looked as ornery as ever, but now there was a hint of worry.

         “Optimus. We have Vehicon activity approximately six clicks north.” The condor shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his blue feathers slightly ruffled. “They just breached the door to the subway system, near the ruins of the Autobot dojo. They look unhurried, but they’ve never come down this far before.”

          The once heroic mech’s dark voice made the news even more haunting, and Primal’s spark sank in response. Everyone exchanged serious glances, a list of things to do before they could make a break for another sector already lengthening in their minds. Now the question of moving was solved. Six clicks would become five, and then four, and so on until they were discovered. They had to get moving, and fast.

          Optimus approached the small vat of the organic liquid they’d managed to tease from the core of the planet and lifted his hand to reveal the seed once more. As he looked at it, the proximity to the goop made the seed shiver and split, a small metallic leaf appearing from within.

         “The seeds of the future lie buried in the past…” he said thoughtfully for what seemed like the millionth time since the Oracle first whispered the words into his processor.

         “ _Ai_. That fraggin’ phrase!” Rattrap exclaimed with annoyance, rearing on his hind legs and crossing his arms.

         The rat wasn’t the only one who’d gotten sick of the statement. They all knew its importance, and they knew Optimus’s faith in the Oracle was strong. They also knew that it gave them direction, and drive to succeed. But the exact meaning behind it continued to elude them all, and it occasionally drove them all crazy; even Primal himself. Pursuing the truth behind the Oracle’s repeated phrase had led them a long way in their war against the dragon tyrant, but sometimes it led them into trouble. And it was enough to cause doubt among in the group.

         “I understand your frustrations, friends,” Optimus replied, watching as the leaf continued to bloom into a new plant. “But it’s the only clue we have in our search to discover what the Oracle, and by extension the Matrix, has in store for Cybertron.”

         Nightscream was silent, but then he dropped from the overhead pipe and landed upright next to the Maximal leader. He sounded somewhat hesitant to voice his opinion, but barreled on anyway. “Hey, I was thinking… maybe we’re interpreting it wrong. I don’t doubt what you believe, but what if there’s more?”

        “What do you mean, kid?” Blackarachnia asked, her spindly form suddenly standing near Silverbolt.

        “Well, you said you guys went back in time, right? And you fought on Ancient Earth, and after you guys needed to leave you gathered up whatever materials you could and high tailed it back here. But what if you left something behind? What if these seeds to the future are still there? _Literally buried_ in the past?”

        “So we mighta left half a ship and a bunch of scraps behind,” Rattrap shrugged. “What are we gonna do? Get a new ship and go back to Earth to search for nuts and bolts? If the Oracle’s expectin’ that, it’s got another thing comin’. We’re in no position to build or repair a slaggin’ _ship_.” Cheetor nodded in agreement. “And really. Are the scrap parts of our tech gonna change the course of history so much that we can’t win our war against Megatron here?”

        “ _Okay_ , then what if these seeds of the future are people? Is it possible you left someone behind? Maybe they’re trapped in the past, and them being there is screwing up our future.” The bat thought he had a point, but the Maximals shook their heads.

        “We scanned for life signs - _Rhinox_ scanned for life signs - before we left. We found nothing,” Cheetor supplied.

         They’d been there, the Maximals standing beside Rhinox and helping him with the scans, hoping to uncover a lost comrade from a hidden stasis pod, or detect the return of a friend thought dead. The rhinoceros had complained and grumbled continuously about the difficulty of getting Maximal and ancient Autobot technology to cooperate with each other, but the scanners seemed to be accurate and they came back to Cybertron disappointed and grieving. Then again, it was possible the controls were faulty, despite Rhinox’s expertise. It was possible, but the cat and everyone else present still disagreed with the theory. Rhinox would have predicted and compensated for margin of error and any possible anomaly they detected had been investigated before they left.

         “Besides, kid,” Rattrap spoke, his voice subdued. “We saw people die in that war. If there was any chance of them comin’ back, we woulda known about it.” No, they _couldn’t_ grab all their old materials and supplies, and they couldn’t recover the bodies of some of their comrades, but they were sure they were gone, forever. Dead.

          Nightscream, faced with the negativity of his audience, sighed and shrugged the theory off. He still thought it was possible, and he was seeing it from the eyes of a bot who wasn’t scarred by the emotional trauma of the Beast Wars. It was strange thinking that after all this time chasing the vague concept of technorganic revolution that the phrase’s meaning might be something as simple and logical as the undeath of old war buddies. He supposed whether his little hypothesis held any truth didn’t matter so much with the encroaching Vehicons just shy of stumbling upon their front door. To him, the present matters were far more important than the possible fate of bots who _might_ be stuck far in the past and he was ready to help pack up and hit the road.

          Optimus Primal, however, was feeling differently. As he stared into the petals of the small flower he held in his hand, and Nightscream's words ran through his helm, he felt the stirrings of an idea, of a revelation, of a _vision_.

          Slowly, the world around him seemed to black out into a perfect spiritual replica of deep space, a white film-like energy encircling him as he began to move like a feather on the wings of a mighty breeze. Far away, and growing more distant, were the voices of his comrades, now concerned at their leader’s silence. The flower petals grew bigger surrounding him and engulfing him in their colors, each hue taking on the familiar appearance of planets, stars, and moons that rocketed past him at light speed. And then suddenly there was Earth, its blue-green shape against the back drop of the bright Sun a welcome and mystifying sight. In his spark, Primal felt a familiar presence, and then another and another and another. He could not identify them, though he tried, one at a time, to ask for their names, but they moved behind an alien veil he couldn’t quite see through. They were mere shadows just beyond his reach.

          Except one.

          Through the expanse of time and space, Optimus felt the unmistakable sensation of ocean waves on his body. The cool embrace of the sea was as unfamiliar to him as it was normal to the spark he could feel beating just across from him, just behind that strange veil.

          He knew this bot. The mech’s spark was hard, angry, and sorrowful. It was as guilt-ridden and restless as the mind it was connected to, as the body that bore it. Something was different about it, like it had been ripped apart and put back together again with the wrong parts, but it was him, nonetheless.

          “Depth Charge!” Optimus exclaimed in surprise.

          As if hearing him, the spark jolted into a maelstrom of activity. It was online.

          “He’s alive!” Optimus whispered in shock, realizing that the other presences he’d felt must have been other survivors.

          Then the vision faded, the gorilla’s consciousness zooming backwards into itself, images of flowers, stars, and Cybertron’s fate flashing before his eyes.

         “Optimus Primal…” the multilayered voice of the Oracle suddenly echoed around him. “The seeds of the future…lie buried in the past.”

          Somewhere off the coast of a battle scorched Earthen beach, deep under the rolling waves of the Pacific, two ruby optics flashed back to life. 

 

 

* * *

* * *


	2. Ep. 1 - A New Agenda, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Beast Wars or anything Transformers except the DVDs.
> 
> ~ December 2012 Update ~
> 
> I have updated the following chapter. I don’t think anything’s noticeably different but I double checked it to make sure it’s how I wanted it! It's not as awesome as I want it to be, but if I get hung up on this any longer I'll never get this thing off the ground again. I rechecked grammar, diction, and altered some of it to adjust for the beginning of Part 2. 
> 
> As a general rule, I am writing this fic in Episodes. Each episode has a name, and has 3 Parts, or ‘chapters.’ I am attempting to add depth to the world of Beast Wars and its characters while simultaneously keeping to the show’s episodic, and scene based, format, so you can think of the end of a chapter as a commercial break, if you like. I think that’s it for notes, so enjoy!

* * *

* * *

**  
Beast Wars: Deep Impact**

**~Episode 1~**

**A New Agenda: Part 1**

* * *

* * *

 

 

           They were dying.

           Two sparks, bodiless, holding on to life by mere threads as the harsh physical environment around them threatened to wear them away into nothing. They weaved and ducked between and around the trunks and branches of the arboreal sea-side landscape, their path indistinct but hurried. Once…Twice, they melded together, creating light like a silver lamp before falling apart again.  Like injured comrades supporting each other with a shoulder and a strong arm, this was the only way to maintain their energized state and continue forward.

           Together, Tigatron and Airazor had been kidnapped, their sparks depolarized and removed from their bodies by mysterious alien beings and their frames molded together to form Tigerhawk, emissary of the Vok. There, in the Vok’s strange plane of existence, they were held prisoner, unable to leave and unable to regain control of their bodies. They’d gotten their chance to escape when the Vok unleashed Tigerhawk upon the Earth – the pair followed, slipping from the Nexus and into the physical realm of existence once more.

           Depolarized sparks could live for a time without a spark chamber to sustain them, and could even possess others or sparkless frames – they were something like ghosts, but with the obvious presence of their shining orb-like constitution. Soon, however, their sparks would be torn by the wild atomic environment into tiny pieces, like water eroding rock to sand, until they would finally extinguish and join the Well of All Sparks in their death.

           In this form, the depolarized spark was a sensitive thing, and this sensitivity could be used by the formless Airazor and Tigatron to seek out help. They could not see without optics, or hear without audio receptors, or speak without vocalizers, but they could still seek, listen, and communicate.

           Together they sensed someone close by. _Two_ someones.

           One possessed such a dark and malicious tint to its intelligence that the pair would do better to stay away. But the other…

            It was not a Friend, but it was not an Enemy either. It was damaged and so full rage it glowed like a beacon, and yet it was strong and righteous. This someone could help.

           Nearing the end of the forest, the two sparks’ sightless vision found the sparkling crystal waters of the open sea. The Sun’s rays glistened at the peak of midmorning, no clouds to impede them, their light causing the pale sand beaches to burn white. Massive sloping rock framed the scene with dirt brown and terracotta red, the natural formation of cliffs creating pathways down to the water that anybot would find useful.

           Tigatron and Airazor of course had no interest in these paths. With the silence of phantoms, they wobbled their way weightlessly over a ledge and down to the water’s foamy edge. They merged again, their light wan in the harsh Sun, and waited.

 

* * *

 

            A rush of déjà vu woke Depth Charge with a start, his optics’ light startlingly like fresh blood in the azure deep.

            Shining down from the surface were the rays of the high Sun. Their source was broken by the ocean waves, a white circle overhead chopped into uneven slices that glowed like hot coals. It was blinding, and the Cybertronian’s systems had to adjust to filter the brightness down to a tolerable level. His optics dimmed.

            For a moment, maybe longer, he felt detached from the swaying universe around him. He felt like a shadow, like the slight graying of color under a herring’s tiny fin. Insignificant, unmotivated, and, for a flash, almost… normal. Then the touch of a swimming stingray brushed lightly against his own fin and he snapped into a slightly foggy focus.

            The sand under him was kicked up in a swirl as he moved, the nearby wildlife darting into shallows and coral caves that they instinctually thought ought to stop him from finding them. He stood slowly, dizzy as his systems compensated, feeling sluggish. He considered setting himself back down, taking a break to regain some strength, but he mentally waved that off with conviction - he couldn’t afford that.

            X was still out there.

             _A blinding flash and the crystal in his hands grew hot. The energon deposits around him began to sing and arcs of electricity danced over his frame. X was still slagging_ laughing _, the sound both amused and painful. Then the noise of metal being ripped as his body was torn apart cut the laugh short - and he was hit with a wave of intense agony, so thorough in its ravaging of his mind that he went numb. And then nothing._

He didn’t know _how_ he knew he failed and it troubled him, causing his optics to narrow into slits. Casting a garnet glare over the soft sands around him, he found no sign of the crab in his immediate area. His scanners detected nothing either. There should be evidence of the devastation of the explosion, but however long it was that he’d been knocked out, it had been enough time for the ocean’s waves to cover the place in a new blanket of sand. He checked his chronometer – two weeks. He’d been out for two whole weeks.

             It was possible that Protoform X’s shell was buried here, somewhere, and yet Depth Charge knew better.

            He shook his head. He couldn’t dwell on this now. Even he knew when he needed to recuperate, so whether the crustacean was in the grave or not, Depth Charge’s next step was to head back to the Maximal base for repairs.

            Lifting a hand for inspection, the ray was momentarily surprised to find no damage (he was _fairly_ certain he shouldn’t even _have_ hands) but he was sure he was experiencing lag in his system’s self diagnostic. He definitely felt the heavy lethargy that accompanied extremely low energy reserves, so he’d have to refuel as well. Once his onboard computer was repaired and reset, he could conduct a run down on the undoubtedly extensive list of damage he wasn’t currently feeling. Hopefully, he’d make it into the CR chamber before his pain receptors came back online. For now, he felt perfectly fine. Thank the Matrix for _that_.

           He moved slowly, every step a fight against the ocean currents that kept pulling at his fins. The uneven sand was an annoying hindrance to his progress as well. He briefly pondered entering beast mode and cruising through this mess with more ease, but the shore wasn’t as far away as he’d thought.  

           It took a good quarter of a megacycle to push himself through the waves and pull himself onto the beach. It took him another fifteen cycles to adjust to the change in gravity, which usually only took him moments. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so critically low on energon, and it only occurred to him now that he could have transformed and eaten something in the water. The thought was quickly dismissed, though – consuming organic material for energy produced very little to go on in comparison to actual fuel. He’d had to have eaten a lot and plankton, while plentiful, would have taken time for him to process. Maximal base had enough stored that he wasn’t in that much danger, assuming he didn’t run into Megatron’s cronies on the way back. So, he’d continue as planned. He’d determined by now that he barely had enough to fly back which meant he’d be walking. In case he did run into trouble, that energy would be better used in a fight.

            Ready to begin his journey back, he glanced upwards, taking in the sight of the coast as he strategized his route. His gaze wandered, his form pushing off the ground and settling into its usual tense posture. Then his optics suddenly caught a glare from the Sun and his filters scrambled to adjust again.

           When he saw spots anyway, he completely rebooted his optics.

           They were still there.

            “What the frag?” he croaked in surprise.

            There were two sparks, not sun spots. They looked faint, like the sparks of the sick and weak, but they moved frantically about in the air. They seemed to reach out for aid, frightened, desperate, and determined to keep living; understandable considering their position.

            The manta ray took a moment to wonder at his sudden emotional insight, but he moved swiftly onwards.

            Depth Charge didn’t know much about medical stuff besides basic field repairs, but he did know that these two had very little time. One might think he should be shocked, and he could think of a few medics he’d known in his past who would have fritzed and gone into emergency paramedic mode at the sight, but he wasn’t them. Like many times before, he found himself faced with highly unusual circumstances and he immediately molded to accommodate. He had to get these two help. His only problem was that he had no tech to do so, and no way to transport the sparks without taking them into his own body; and that was just unacceptable.

            As if sensing his resolve and perhaps his confusion, the sparks began to snake their way up the beach towards the cliffs in a way that suggested they were aware of the ex-Marshall’s presence, and Depth Charge hesitated a mere second before stepping after them.

            He couldn’t help but think, who had done this to them? How long had these two been like this? And who were they? With dread he considered the possibilities and a pang of guilt travelled through his core. He couldn’t help but feel that maybe the pair wouldn’t have found themselves in this state if he’d done what Optimus had asked him to instead of going after X.

            But with a forceful shudder, he willed the guilt away. He’d seen an opportunity and he took it to rid the world of that murderous menace. There were plenty of Maximals ganged up on Megatron, so they could handle him. X was his to fight and, whether he’d eliminated him or not, he was sure Rampage was out of the conflict for the duration.

            The ray had no idea what the current situation was in the Beast Wars, but he knew he needed Maximal help now. He’d have to deal with the inevitable lecture Optimus would lash him with, but this predicament he found himself with was worth it. Although these sparks seemed to have a better idea of their situation than he did, it was still risky just following after them. They could die any moment, and the only person Depth Charge knew could help them was a certain rhinoceros Primal had tethered inside a cave somewhere northeast of here.

            He lifted his arm, speaking clearly over the gentle crashing of waves on the sand behind him, “Depth Charge to Primal.”

            Static answered him.

            He tried again, “Depth Charge to Maximal base.”

            Nothing.

            This did not bode well. Either the Maximals were staying silent on the airwaves for some reason, or something very bad went down while he was out. He’d have to handle this on his own. _Assuming_ he could lend any useful kind of aid, he’d check up on Primal’s bozos later.  He had no choice at the moment but allow the pair up front to lead him to where they seemed to think they should go.

            He sighed and checked his energon reserves again, just to double check. It wasn’t the small Preds he was worried about, but the big ones, with the _brains_ , well…

            Marching his way into the forest at the top of the cliffs, he kept a wary optic on his scanners.

 

  **-00-**

           “Run that by me again?”

           “ _Diagnostic Scan Complete: Zero Damage. Complete functionality restored.”_

           “How is that _possible_?”

            The manta’s low voice was the only sound in the forest that didn’t come from wildlife. He squeezed himself between the narrow trees, the glowing orbs he tailed just ahead of him and slowing down.

             It had taken him two megacycles to realize that his self repair systems were unglitched, and that his diagnostics had nothing to report because there _was no damage_. He was completely, one hundred percent, whole, as if he’d just emerged from a CR chamber undisturbed. This bothered him immensely, seeing as there was no logical explanation for it. The only thing he could come up with was that the energon blast was smaller than he’d thought, his body was tougher than he’d thought, and he’d been unconscious for _longer_ than he’d thought, his self repair doing a fantastic job of healing even if he did lose a ton of mech fluid and energon in the process. His chronometer was his only clue but even with two weeks down time at the bottom of the sea, he shouldn’t be walking upright, if at all.

              As far as he could tell, the world wasn’t exactly imploding on itself, so Megatron must not have succeeded. Why, then, were the Maximals silent?

              By the time the Sun had just reached past its peak, Depth Charge could no longer see the ocean as the broadleaf forest around him turned into pines and oaks. He entered a clearing, the grass grown high enough to reach his knee plating and wildflowers in bloom, all swaying in the light salt-less breeze. The sparks picked up in speed and began to circle a pile of dirt near the other side of the meadow.

              “I have to dig?” he asked, more thoughtful than contemptuous. The pile was preceded by a long streak of debris that cut through the plantlife and – he looked up and saw it – an unnatural cut in the treeline above, as if something crashed through them on the way down. The implications were obvious – he’d been led to a stasis pod. He didn’t know how the sparks had found it, but he couldn’t exactly ask them and expect an answer, so he hurried forward and got to work.

               He stuck his hands in and pulled away the dirt in clumps. It was slightly wet, as if a light rain had passed through some megacycles ago. He worked for a while before glancing up again.

               Not two yards away, the sparks dipped dangerously before merging into a shining orb. They did that every once in a while and Depth Charge had assumed it was something to look away from, until it occurred to him that they might be doing it because it was keeping them alive. He didn’t know much about the nature of sparks or anything. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d let anyone anywhere near his own. But now it seemed to him that this was the manifestation of the only way they knew how to stick around. They must have been very close before…

               With a minute pause - he couldn’t afford to stop – he wondered again if he knew these two.

              “I guess I’ll find out soon enough,” he grunted out loud, lifting a stasis pod from the hole and setting it gently on the damp pillow of soft dirt next to him.

               The sparks seemed to revitalize as Depth Charge looked over the pod.

                It was beaten and part of the control panel was seared away. The crevices were caked with dirt and the outside was covered in a thin film of clay. Placing his hand on it he discovered that no pulse of a spark was inside. Somehow he had known it was a blank before he even touched it, but he paid no mind to that thought. More important matters were at hand.

               Like trying to get two bodies out of the thing.

               He sighed, and mentally batted his frustration away. He knew only _one_ spark could go in there. Trying to find a way to split the blank into two was a feat best reserved to the science types, if it was even possible. So, only half of his present company was coming back.

               He turned to tell them that, hoping they’d understand, but found no need.  

               He had no idea sparks without shells could argue but that’s what it looked like. The one was rather animatedly shaking and moving in circles, angry and incredulous, and the other was moving frantically towards and the pod and back, trying to herd the other in, entrusting its life in the other’s hands. Doubt nibbled at his circuits again and his newfound tendency to project emotions on naked spherical souls, but he shook his head in dismissal. He was just being logical. He knew an argument when he saw one.

                The raybot looked away from the sight and moved to open the stasis pod to let the winner, or loser, in. Failing to detect energon in the area, he figured it was safe to open.

                After the dirt was scraped away the pod’s lid lifted with a hiss, revealing a liquid protoform. It was likely still liquid-like because the pod was functioning perfectly, even though the Maximal had no spark. That couldn’t be helped now, however, and despite how wrong it felt to be relieved that the Maximal inside was dead, the manta ray couldn’t help it. He wasn’t sure what he’d done if it was alive and he still had two sparks to rush through the forest to base along with a new bot to look after.  The thought also occurred to him then, as he watched the protoform slosh around on itself, that with all the unknowns in his situation, he shouldn’t try his radio again unless it became absolutely necessary. He didn’t want to attract unwanted attention in such a delicate instance. Not having reached the point of emergency yet, and with a potential ally about to come online again, he decided to wait until he was much closer to base before calling for back up. For now, he had this under control. One spark would come online, the other spark could be stabilized using the pod’s life support functions.

                Finally, it was decided and one of his mute companions glided over unsteadily. The Other wasn’t looking much better, settling resignedly near a purple bloom as if slumping. The ‘chosen’ one settled inside and the pod reacted immediately. With a snap the lid shut, the pod shook, and the scanner popped out, fritzing on its little golden port. It broke off, useless, and Depth Charge stepped away as the glade was filled with white light.

               The pod then abruptly settled and went quiet. A cycle passed, then another, before a light knocking came from inside.

               The ray didn’t move, astonished at so normal – _domestic? sentient? communicative?_ – a sound coming from a thing that was, just a moment ago, such an importantly _lifeless_ heap of metal.

               The knocking got louder and a muffled feminine voice called out from inside, sounding a little more desperate. Depth Charge blinked and walked forward to peer inside.

               A pair of teal optics looked back at him, framed by a red crest that glinted a distinct Transmetal shine. She looked functional and alert, if a bit sheepish at her predicament.

               With a swipe of his sharp edged tail, Depth Charge popped the seal along the lip of the stasis pod lid. Soon, a stately bot climbed out, her severely shaped blue wings swept to either side as she stretched and took in the sight of the sky above. Hovering towards her, the defenseless spark nearby was welcomed with open gold plated arms which curled protectively around the orb. Then her ruby helm tilted, and she looked the large sea-going Maximal over, taking in his haggard appearance. He was in pristine condition, but his shoulders and large fins dipped in a way that suggested his exhaustion. She graced him with a relieved smile and a playful smirk.

               “You look like _scrap_.”  

 

* * *

 

               Soft earth shivered and quaked, the sand falling aside as languidly as fluid as the massive crab that was Rampage sifted himself to the surface. The blue light of the sea deepened the red curves of his form and eerily highlighted the acidic green of his optics.

              No, Protoform X wasn’t dead. It was quite a disappointment to find himself still among the living. He’d figured himself free from his torment the moment his old friend pushed that shard straight through his spark. Alas, that wasn’t the case. He’d thought, at first, upon waking, that it was Depth Charge who had gone offline for good. He was, after all, mortal, but the crab quickly found this to be false and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Instead, he’d found the manta ray sprawled on the coral-littered floor of the ocean unharmed. Unusual.

              That had been less than a day ago.

              It wasn’t until Depth Charge stirred that the beginnings of a revelation came to him. Weakened, Rampage had tunneled, as many crabs do, to escape detection. He shimmied into the sand deep enough that he knew his old playmate’s scanners wouldn’t find him and waited.

              The ray stood, confused but determined as always, and ultimately, to X’s surprise, left.

              And with the ex-Marshall online and aware again, Rampage felt a twinge in the region of his chest. He then emerged from the sand to sense the Maximal growing distant, and he reflected on this revelation. It pulled at the fringes of his mind like mice nibbled at the edges of a block of cheese. The conclusion eluded him but the facts and evidence revealed themselves to him slowly. A thought crossed his mind and it amused him, but as quickly as it came it went – he was left with the impression of irony that he couldn’t understand. The answer was just out of reach. What was this that was so strange? What was different about the manta ray? About himself? 

              “What is this I feel in my spark?” he mumbled to the quiet current. A claw arced slowly, coming to rest under his mandibles. “Is it _you_ , old friend?”

              Suddenly, the distinct feeling of recognition zipped across his frame and electrocuted his spark. He froze as his focus turned inward and prodded at his spark, this thing he had wanted to be whole again for so long now. It was certainly whole now, and such a wonderful feeling that was! But the void was not filled with his _own_ essence. The void screamed another life-force; it vibrated with the energy and vitality of the one he’d long hunted. It _was_ Depth Charge.

              Rampage transformed in his surprise and maroon hands clutched at his chest. He glared at the plates that hid his spark chamber with horror and rising fury.

             Fighting his anger off, he steeled himself and thought. He hadn’t known this kind of thing could happen. Did Megatron know? What plans had the tyrant had in store for him if he did? He supposed it didn’t matter now, because the Rex’s hateful and insane spark wasn’t on the planet anymore and the other half of his spark was no longer with the twitchy Transmetal raptor. So, Rampage then had to wonder if Omicron’s guardian knew. It had to have been an accident; he doubted the ray would pull such a move on him. The manta’s goal was to execute him, not attain the precious ‘gift’ Cybertron’s favorite research facility had bestowed him. _Could_ his healing abilities be passed to another through his spark like this? He was sure it could – it healed Dinobot, why not another?

              What did this mean? Rampage could not answer himself this. This was new knowledge to him. Depth Charge’s life force beat with his own, not next to it but as a part of it, as if they’d been mixed together. The thought made him queasy and although his systems craved for energon, he couldn’t stand the thought of consuming anything at the moment. His rage reared its ugly head again and it felt strange to him, because it wasn’t only his rage, but the rage he’d felt in the raybot’s spark time and time again. They were angry together, no longer two separate lives, but a single entity in two bodies. They were new; reborn. And it was disturbing.

               Rampage stumbled towards the beach, finding his bearings as he went. His – their? – anger swirled inside him and he found himself foolishly denying this was happening. However, he wasn’t stupid enough to let this natural psychological response interfere, and he forced himself to face this. He had to know if Depth Charge knew. He had to know if it was possible to get his spark back, even – especially – if he had to wring it from the Maximal himself.

               He continued to fume until he found the Guardian’s footprints in the sand of the brightly lit shore. Ever plotting and planning as he was, the change of scenery inspired a new perspective, and he reevaluated his situation.

               The crabbot’s brilliant mind pushed past his chagrin and whirred with keen interest before he gazed down at his hands with a new outlook, trying to understand these unfamiliar twists in his game – _was there a game anymore?_ A treacherous thought supplied. He ignored it.

               Where was the other half of his spark? He could feel it as it continued to moved away from him with two others, but at the same time he couldn’t. That was what was so different about Depth Charge when he’d awoken. He _felt_ different, and now Rampage knew why. It was kind of like _feedback_. And, furthermore, there was something else… a connection.  A very… _strong_ connection, he thought, to his dear friend. The thought almost sent him reeling again with _what did this mean?_

               Again, he steeled himself and with only the vaguest bits of a plan in mind, he set out up the beach, away from Omicron’s Guardian and his weakening companions, to find some…leverage.

               This was a… disconcerting …frightening….aggravating…and very…

                                                                                                                                              very…

                                                                                                                                                                        ... _interesting_ development.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 


End file.
